


Sickness

by CarnationGem (Akumeoi)



Series: Ciavran [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/CarnationGem
Summary: Zevran and the Warden are on the road when she starts burning up fever. The situation looks serious.





	Sickness

Ciara was sick. Ciara was sick, and Zevran didn’t know what to do. They were in the Brecilian Forest, far from any town or village, and she was so feverish he was afraid she would burn up in front of his eyes. At the moment, she was resting, bundled up in all the furs they had, staring darkly into the fire, hypnotized and half-asleep. For his part, Zevran was sitting on a log across from her, watching her doze and wondering what to do next.

Ciara must have felt her lover’s concerned gaze resting on her, because somewhere in her torpor she managed to gain a moment of lucidity. Eyes swimming over to Zevran’s face, she gazed at him in a loving but unfocused sort of way and gave a weak smile.

“Zevran…” she said, then coughed. Hurriedly getting to his feet, Zevran took the skein of water from his pack and brought it to her. Kneeling down beside her, he uncorked the water and held it to her lips. She drank, but slowly.

“You look so worried…” Ciara said softly, when she had had enough. “What troubles you, my love?”

Was she aware of the situation? Did she know how sick she was? Setting the water skein down beside the fire, Zevran took Ciara’s hand, then felt her forehead with the back of his other hand. Still burning.

“You are so ill,” Zevran told her, voice nearly breaking. He was trying hard to be strong for her, to not panic and take care of her properly. But it seemed like there was nothing more he could do. They had no medicine left. Neither of them were mages, with the power of healing. All they had was fire and water. If those ran out, he would lose her.

“My love,” Ciara murmured, then lapsed into silence again.

The sky was getting darker. Soon it would be night, and Zevran knew he would have to make the choice of staying by Ciara’s side to make sure she had what she needed, and standing guard at the edge of the camp to keep any marauding creatures such as wolves away.

He didn’t want to leave her unprotected. Last night she had been able to hold a bow with him. Now? She couldn’t even make a fist if the situation demanded it.

Just as Zevran was about to stand to walk the perimeter of the camp, Ciara spoke.

“Zevran.”

“Yes, my Ciara?”

“Zevran.”

“Yes?”

Zevran wondered if Ciara actually wanted to tell him something, or if she was just saying his name. A thought flashed across his mind. What if that was the last thing he ever heard her say?

“Zevran.” Ciara’s voice pulled him back to reality. “You’re right.”

Zevran felt a chill run down his spine.

“I… I…” Ciara coughed again. “We need help.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Zevran reminded her, struggling to stay calm.

Smiling, Ciara untangled one hand from underneath the furs and pressed warm and clammy fingers against Zevran’s cheek. “Put me on your back,” she said.

“What?”

“Put me…” Ciara said again, clearly. “On your back. Left hand… torch. Right hand… sword.”

She wanted him to carry her. They would have to leave most of their possessions behind, but that wasn’t important. All that mattered was Ciara.

“But where should we go?” Zevran asked, taking her hand in his.

“Last crossroads. Help is there.”

The last crossroads was a half-day’s walk away, night had fallen, and Zevran didn’t know what to do when he got there. This plan might be just another product of Ciara’s fever. But the thought of losing her was too strong. He could not bear to wait here and watch her get sicker every moment.

“As you wish,” Zevran said grimly.

First, he fashioned a sling out of furs and rope, which he could use to keep Ciara on his back if she was too weak to hold on. He tied the water skein and several other important possessions to his belt, then readied a torch. Getting Ciara into the sling wasn’t easy, but soon she was settled comfortably and securely against his back, her breathing in his ear a reassuring reminder that she was still alright. Finally, he took his sword in his right hand and the torch in his left, kicked earth over the fire and set off into the night.

The night was both dark and long. Ciara’s weight was a heavy burden, but Zevran pressed on, unwilling to stop and rest. A few times Ciara murmured something, or perhaps she simply whimpered - but when Zevran spoke to her, she did not respond. Most likely, she was dreaming.

They had no significant encounters with wild beasts. Once, a wild halla bounded across the path in front of them, and several times Zevran heard small creatures scuttling through the underbrush beside the path. A lone wolf cried in the distance, but it was too far away to be a threat. No the real threat was whatever was inside Ciara, whatever was eating her alive.

So Zevran, sweat pouring down his face from exertion, teeth gritted together, pressed on through the night.

Dawn was breaking as Zevran reached the crossroads. The sight of his goal should have filled him with hope, but there were no signs of life along any of the five roads which met there. Zevran’s steps slowed, then stopped. Ciara stirred. She whispered something, but Zevran didn’t catch it.

“Are we here?” Ciara whispered again.

“We’re at the crossroads,” Zevran said, like it meant something. If this was it - if that was the end of Ciara’s plan - he knew they were lost.

“Good,” Ciara said vaguely. Zevran waited for a moment, but she said nothing more.

“Ciara. My love,” Zevran said, and this time his voice did crack. Slowly, Zevran walked over to a large, flat stone at the side of the road, and sat with his head in his hands, staring at the dirt road beneath his feet. Ciara’s weight against him eased, but her warmth and the sound of her breathing remained.

She was alive. For how long?

A few drops of water splattered into the ruts in the damp earth. Zevran stared at them for a moment, numb, before pressing the back of one hand to his eyes and realising that he was silently crying. Ciara… he had failed her. There was a chance she might still live, but it was unlikely if they couldn’t bring her fever down. It would probably have been better if they had never left the campsite. At least then he wouldn’t have to haul her corpse all the way back there just to-

Zevran could feel his body shaking now, partly with exhaustion, partly with misery. Afraid the motion would wake Ciara, he tried to get himself under control. Now, as with the other worst moments of his life, he fell back on his Crow training. Empty his mind, focus on the task at hand. Remove all emotion. Get the job done.

Zevran felt totally empty. There was nothing to be done. There was only tiredness, sweat, the sound of laboured breathing. Focus on that, clear your mind.There was only the cold rock beneath him. The clinging dewdrops in the grass. The ruts on the road. The-

Ruts on the road. _Wheels_. Someone had passed through here either on or after the day of the last rain. That was two days ago. And wagons move more slowly than two lone travellers. At most, they were a day’s walk away. If Zevran’s strength and Ciara’s breath could hold out long enough, they would catch up.

Zevran stood.

For the last time, Ciara spoke. Zevran would never know how she had known, and she was too sick to later remember the journey. But the fact that she had led him there was no coincidence. As Zevran set off down the road once more, Ciara said one word: “Aravels.”


End file.
